Carfax Abbey: Heath
Heath was a good match for Carfax Abbey. Really, he was. He had money, and he wore it in a way that only people who were raised in money can wear it. The shirt he was wearing was so wine red as to be black, and it was rolled up to past his elbows with a clean powder blue t-shirt under it. The shirts were soft and tailored, the jeans were worn before they came out of the factory, and his billfold was flat, designer, and barely visible in one back pocket since it only had one metal credit card with a lot of zeroes attached.
That... that and really he was just comfortable there. In the expensive strip club. Wandering around.
He went for the stage, but he didn't crowd up there, that wasn't how he was, nor how he'd been taught. He sat down at one of those tiny tables up front, forgot to order a drink, and listened to Fable sing. She was pretty good. The crowd was appreciative. Fable was dressed up and she looked very happy, which satisfied his moderately protective impulse.
From his seat, he looked around for the described Harlow. She didn't sound like Heath's type either, a flighty glittery and beautiful pale girl wasn't the kind that grabbed his eye. He never knew why; maybe because those traits said 'socialite' to him... who knew. Still, if Fable said he should check up, he would.